Amat’s fingertips trace the seams of his match jersey. Dark green with silver numbers and the brown bear on the chest. The colors of Beartown: forest, ice, earth. He’s wearing number eighty-one. He was number nine on the boys’ team, but that’s Kevin’s number here. The locker room around him is chaotic. Benji, number sixteen, is of course lying in a corner, asleep as usual, but all the other juniors are sitting huddled up on their benches, forced back by parents who are getting louder and more excitable with their advice the closer the start of the game gets. That tendency exists in all sports: parents always think their own expertise increases automatically as their child gets better at something. As if the reverse weren’t actually the case.
The noise level is unbearable, and loudest of all is Maggan Lyt, a privilege you can grant yourself when your son plays in the first line. Benji’s mom has never set foot inside the locker room, and Kevin’s mom hardly ever comes to the rink, so Maggan has ruled the roost here for years. She came and untied little William’s skates after every game until he was thirteen, and she and her husband sacrificed their second car and holidays abroad so they could afford to move into the house next to the Erdahl family’s, and their sons could become best friends. Her frustration at the fact that William hasn’t yet managed to force his way in between Kevin and Benji has started to slip into downright aggression.
When David walks in, the locker room explodes in a torrent of accusations, questions, and demands from all the adults in there. He walks straight through them as though they didn’t exist, followed by Lars, who starts shepherding them toward the door. Maggan Lyt is so insulted that she bats his hand away.
“We’re here to support the team!”
“That’s what we have the stands for,” David replies without looking at her.
She loses control at that.
“And as for you, David! What sort of leadership are you showing, making changes to the team before this of all games?”
David raises his eyebrows uncomprehendingly at her. William Lyt looks like he wants to die.
“What’s he doing here?” Maggan demands, pointing straight at Amat.
Amat looks like he shares William’s wish. David keeps his voice quiet on purpose, forcing all the other adults to shut up.
“I don’t justify my choice of team to anyone.”
The vein on Maggan’s forehead is throbbing like a church-bell.
“You’ll justify it to ME, I’ll have you know! These boys have played for you for ten years and for their biggest game ever you pick someone from the BOYS’ TEAM?”
She gestures expansively toward all the other adults in the room, and manages to get them to nod and grunt in agreement, before fixing her eyes on David and demanding:
“Do you have any idea how important this game is for us? For all of us? Do you know what we’ve had to sacrifice for this sport?”
Amat is squirming, and looks like he’d like to run off down the hall, leave the rink, and never come back. That’s not helped when David’s face turns red so quickly that even Maggan reverses straight into the wall.
“You want to talk to me about sacrifices?” David hisses, walking right up to her without giving her the slightest chance to reply.
“Look at him!” he says, pointing at Amat, and before Maggan has time to react he’s grabbed her by the arm and dragged her halfway across the floor until she’s standing right in front of the boy.
“Look at him! Are you seriously standing here saying that your son deserves this more than he does? Are you saying they trod the same path to get here? Are you telling me your family has worked harder than he has? Look at him!”
Maggan Lyt’s arm is shaking when he lets go of it. David simply gives Amat a quick pat on the shoulder, his thumb nudges the boy’s neck, and he looks him in the eye. Not a word. Just that.
Then the coach crosses the room, puts his hand on William Lyt’s cheek, and whispers:
“We play for ourselves, William. No one else. You and I, we play for ourselves. Because we got ourselves here. No one else did.”
William nods and wipes his eyes.
*
Bobo’s feet are drumming the floor relentlessly. He’s finding it impossible to sit still. When Lars throws out all the parents, including Maggan, the silence is so intense that it’s suffocating. And Bobo can’t keep quiet in situations like that; he’s never been able to. He isn’t Kevin or Benji, he’s always had to fight his way to the center of attention, to the middle of the locker room. As long as he can remember he’s been terrified of corners, of being forgotten, left unacknowledged. He can see all his best friends’ heads hanging on their chests now, and he would desperately love to stand up and give an inspirational speech, the sort you see in films, but he doesn’t have the words for it. Nor the voice. He just wants to kill the silence. So he stands up, clears his throat, and says:
“Hey, guys, what did one lesbian vampire say to the other lesbian vampire?”
The juniors look up at him in surprise. Bobo grins.
“See you in a month!”
Some of the team start to laugh, which is all the encouragement Bobo needs to carry on.
“Do you know what the usual cause of death is for lesbians?”
A few more are laughing now.
“Hairballs!” Bobo cries, before launching into his big finale.
“And do you know why lesbians get so many colds? LACK OF VITAMIN D!”
The whole locker room is laughing now. With him and at him, he doesn’t care which. As long as they laugh. In a moment of pride he turns to David, whose expression hasn’t changed, and bursts out:
“Have you got any good ones, coach?”
The locker room falls silent again. David sits there motionless. Bobo’s face turns first red, then white. In the end Lars both saves and destroys him by clearing his throat, getting to his feet, and saying:
“Do you know why Bobo always cries and his ears hurt after he’s had sex?”
Bobo squirms anxiously. Some of the guys start giggling in anticipation. Lars’s face cracks into an alarmingly wide grin.
“Because of the pepper spray and rape whistle!”
The storm of laughter from all the juniors makes the room shake. In the end even David smiles, and he’ll think back to that moment many times afterward: whether a joke is always only a joke, whether that particular one went too far, whether there are different rules inside and outside a locker room, whether it’s acceptable to cross the line in order to defuse tension and get rid of nerves before a game, or if he should have stopped Lars and intervened by saying something to the guys. But he does nothing. Just lets them all laugh. He’ll think about that when he gets home and looks his girlfriend in the eye.
In the meantime Amat is sitting in the corner, hearing himself laugh. Because it’s a release. Because it makes him feel part of the team. Because there’s something wonderful about making the same noise as everyone around him. He’ll feel ashamed of that forever.
*